


The Midnight Vault

by Astralune



Series: A Colour of Dragonflights [4]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Black Dragonflight, F/M, Void Elf, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, blood elf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-05 21:16:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astralune/pseuds/Astralune
Summary: Deep within Azeroth lies a secret library - the Onyx Repository - and its guardian, dread and terrible. A pair of intrepid elves go searching for eldritch secrets and unfortunately, find them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set shortly after the events of 8.0 (Battle for Azeroth release), and after "A Laurel of Emerald Bronze".

It was a cold, wintry day by mortal standards when Petranaze’s work was interrupted by the runes of the guest entry chamber lighting up a bright, thrumming indigo unexpectedly.

Unexpectedly, because the Onyx Repository was a secret kept by few enough that she could count them on one claw. Well, she _could,_ were the tasks of a librarian not easier in other forms. In any case, no one had scheduled a visit, and so it was with a wave of her hand she activated the antechamber defences from behind her book-laden desk, positioned in the foyer that stood as bulwark between whoever was arriving and the Repository proper. A face resolved in the stonework of the wall across from the entry chamber, and its eyes glowed red.

“WARNING: LIFE FORM PATTERN NOT RECOGNIZED. ARCHIVAL PROCESSING TERMINATED. CONTINUED INTRUSION WILL RESULT IN TARGETED RESPONSE,” it rumbled, and Petranaze stood, sliding out from behind the desk and striding towards the guarded antechamber. The purple runes rotated in place, chiming as they hit some secret alignment, then spinning again as she took a defensive stance before the entrance. They chimed once more, and then, with a flurry of light, her unexpected visitors materialised.

They looked like elves to her, the man of Blood, and the woman… she sniffed. That new scion. Void. As they looked about, no doubt disorientated by the transit, she clasped her hands behind her back.

“Hello, unwelcome intruders!” she greeted them with false cheer. “You don’t belong here. You’ll be leaving now.”

“No, wait, don’t-” the Blood Elf began, as the Void Elf took a defensive stance next to him.

“Goodbye!” Petranaze said, the wave she offered them serving to activate the teleport out, and the Repository returned to silence.

* * *

Two days later they came back.

As before, she stood before them as they appeared. “Hello, unwel-” she began, when the Blood Elf twisted his hands. _Magic,_ she thought, and cut things short, waving across the teleport switch.

The spellwork fizzled green across the shield the intruders had erected.

“Not this time,” he growled, eyes burning green in victory at her. “You won’t be rid of us so easily.”

Petranaze deployed the Librarian Glare, right over the top of her glasses. It failed to wilt them the way she wished. “But I will be rid of you. You are unwelcome.” She made a gesture with her hand, and the entry chamber began to fill with molten lava.

The Void elf noticed it first, and tugged at her companion’s arm. “Mor, the floor,” she warned him urgently, and he broke his gaze to look down. Petranaze took the opportunity to turn and return to her desk.

They lasted for a fully minute after the chamber filled, before they teleported themselves out. Satisfied, she returned to cataloging every occurance of the number seven in the recorded histories.

* * *

The next day, the Void Elf arrived on her own.

“Interesting,” Petranaze mused. ‘You think I will be more sympathetic without your partner here? Woman to woman?”

The Void Elf smiled at her, though it was brittle. “I have no idea what you mean. I merely thought to present our case. Void elf to…. Black Dragon?”

Petranaze _tsk_ ’d. “You’re fishing,” she chastised her, and wagged a finger. “Unfortunately it will do you no good. Neither of you have visiting privileges, and the Onyx Repository is barred to all others.”

The Void Elf perked up. “The _Onyx Repository_ ,” she said, as if rolling the taste of the name on her tongue. “So that’s where this is.”

Petranaze froze, and glared at her. _Shit._ “You will leave _now._ ” She waved her hand, and stormed off to her desk in a fury as the intruder was ‘ported out.

* * *

When they turned up again three days later, Petranaze stood there with a passel of fire spells curled around her arms, ready to unleash.

“You will tell me who you are,” she commanded, skipping the pleasantries.

The Blood Elf made to reply, but the Void Elf elbowed in front, giving him a fond glance as she did. “I’m Nil,” she said. “And this is Mor’tharil.”

The male grumped, his eyes locked on the spellwork she had coiled, ready to fire. “You shouldn’t-”

“Thank you, unwelcome intruders,” Petranaze spoke over him, as she let the spells unravel with a hiss of released energy. “You may wish to leave now.”

The pair looked at her flatly. “What is it this time?” he finally asked.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Petranaze replied, striding back to her desk.

The icy-black teeth had just started closing in from above when she heard them return from whence they came.

* * *

It was the middle of the night two days later that she was woken by the alarms. She pulled on her favourite robe - it shined like black scales, and despite the comfort of it, it made her feel armoured - and walked out to find her persistent visitors thumping on the entrance in rising panic.

“Hello, unwelcome intruders!” she said cheerily. “As you have noticed, the entrance chamber has all the air removed while I rest!” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Though I imagine you can’t hear me, with the whole vacuum thing.” She looked back at them, and made an exaggerated pantomime of her words. “You need to teleport out,” she enunciated slowly.

The Blood Elf glared at her, and the Void Elf looked disappointed. But they left, all the same, and she returned to her rest.

* * *

When next they arrived, she had a pair of notated journals floating before her, opened to relevant pages, as she stood before the entrance chamber.

“Mor’tharil, last name Cinderlight,” she began without preamble, reading off the book on her left.. “Wanted for questioning in regard to a dozen different matters in three different city-states, and a Warlock,” she noted. He glared at her. She merely turned her attention to the other tome. “And Nil, last name…. Well, the records seem incomplete there.” She made a dissatisfied noise. “A Void Elf, as such things are determined. Whereabouts unknown, though there are several break-ins across Azeroth which were probably your doing.” The Void Elf smiled, as if pleased to be recognised.

Petranaze let the books snap shut loudly, and her intruders jumped at the sound. “Now,” she said, letting a bit of snarl enter her tone. “ _What do you want with my library._ ”

“Finally,” the Blood Elf muttered under his breath. “We want you to let us in, you great big ornery-”

“ _Knowledge,_ ” the Void Elf said, elbowing her partner. “We came here in search of knowledge. Of the esoteric and hard to find sort.”

The Blood Elf grumped. “And this... library of yours is certainly esoteric and hard to find.”

Petranaze smiled. “By design. Before you two barrelled into here, sixteen people on all of Azeroth have ever known it even existed.”

The two visitors shared a glance at each other. “Does that mean you’ll let us in?” the Void Elf asked hopefully.

“No,” Petranaze said, waving a hand.

“Oh, for _fuck’s-_ ”

* * *

Three days later - on her lunch break, of course - their entrance was announced with a blast of fel-green light as they blew up the entrance portal and tried to breach the library proper.

Before she made it to the room, she could hear the Titan defense construct calling its shots as usual - “SECURITY BREACH IN PROGRESS. ARCHIVAL INDEXING TRANSFERRED TO LOW PRIORITY QUEUE. COUNTERMEASURES ENGAGED,” it boomed like a rockslide - and when she arrived, it was to find her intruders hidden behind a book cart while lasers struck everything but them.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” she demanded as authoritatively as possible, hands on hips.

“Trying to borrow a book!” the Blood Elf shouted sarcastically.

“And you thought charging in here like the 7th legion would _work?_ ” she demanded.

“We did try asking,” the Void Elf said. “You’re a librarian, doesn’t knowledge belong to everyone?”

Petranaze snorted, and walked to her table. She wasn’t in danger of the Titan construct firing lasers everywhere - “THREAT INDEX CRITICAL,” it shouted uselessly - and so, she casually poured herself a cup of tea. “Nice try. There is a _reason_ this knowledge is kept secure here.” She took a sip. “You can leave now. It won’t stop you from retreating to the entry chamber. Unless you’re stealing something.” She grinned at them wickedly.

The Blood Elf gave her an exasperated look, then said something too quiet to hear to his partner. The two of them retreated to the entry, and Pertanaze waved, ‘porting them out.

“THREAT ELIMINATED. SECURITY BREACH COUNTERED. ARCHIVAL INDEXING RESUMED AT NORMAL PRIORITY,” the defense system announced.

“Oh shut up, you great lumbering lump of stone,” Petranze grumbled uselessly. “What a mess. Now I have to clean this up,” she complained to the empty room, though if she were being honest, she wasn’t too upset.

This was the most fun she’d had in _ages._

* * *

It was five days later, and she’d thought they had given up for good, when they arrived once more.

“Hello, unwelcome intru-”

“We have a gift,” the Blood Elf said, and the Void Elf thrust a heavy, leather-bound book forward.

“-ruuuuoooh,” Petranaze trailed off. “A gift? I am not so easily bribed,” she chastised them. “What is it?” She stepped closer, trying to examine the cover without entering the chamber.

“It’s knowledge you don’t have,” the Void Elf said. “Dangerous, esoteric and - importantly - the only copy.”

Petranaze stood up straight. _Damn._ Infuriatingly, they were right. The price of entry to the Onyx Repository, by long held tradition, was to add to its stores. By already possessing the kind of knowledge the Repository held, the premise argued, one had, _prima facie_ , proven themselves capable of handling such, and thus would be in a position to have need of other such knowledge. That didn’t stop it from annoying her; mortals, in particular, were always sore winners when they got in.

“You’ll forgive me for not taking your word for it,” she said archly, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll have to verify it, and that’s always difficult with one-of-a-kind esoterica. What _is_ it, exactly?”

Her intruders glanced at each other again. “The combined personal journal and scholarly works of Magister Umbric. _The Arts of the Void,_ I believe he was planning on calling it,” explained the Blood Elf.

“I stole it,” the Void Elf said with a shrug.

“You _stole-_ ” Petranaze cut herself off. “Why is this of value to me?” she asked, with a calculatedly casual shrug.

“Because,” the Void Elf said, “Void magic is dangerous, esoteric, and _new_. You don’t have this, or anything like it, in your library. And you want it.”

“You don’t know that, little elf,” Petranaze found herself saying with a snarl.

“You want it,” she said.

“You’re a librarian,” he said.

Petranaze stared at them both for a long moment. They were, unfortunately, correct. “Please place the book through the After Hours Book Returns slot to your right, unwelcome intruders,” she said at last, her anger draining away. “You may return in one week for my judgement.”

“We-” the Blood Elf began, but the Void Elf placed her hand on his arm. “Of course,” she said, shifting to pass the book through the returns slot.

“You have us at a disadvantage,” the Blood Elf said. “You know who we are, but we only know you as the Librarian of this place.”

“Well. ‘The Librarian’ would suffice for most,” she said, then shrugged. “Petranaze. Good luck finding out anything about me, though.”

The elves both smiled at her. “We don’t need luck,” he said, full of bravado. “We have skill,” she added.

“Goodbye, unwelcome intruders.” She waved, and once more, they were gone.

* * *

She had retrieved the journal from the Returns box, and spent the evening in the Reading Room, curled up on an exquisitely comfortable couch, perusing the work and taking research notes for verification.

Based on her own working knowledge, however, if this was a fake? Then it was an incredibly good one. She’d need to cross-reference some details, and confirm that Umbric has indeed misplaced his formal-dissertation-slash-journal, cross the i’s, dot the t’s, but…

She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, sighing in slight annoyance. _I might have to let them in after all._


	2. Chapter 2

When they arrived, it was clearly with the intention of dressing to impress - he wore a suit like that of lower nobility, though careful not to show any particular house or allegiance. She wore a short, ornate black dress, threaded with deep purples.

Petranaze clasped her hands behind her back as they teleported in. “Hello, unwelcome intruders,” she began.

“Oh,  _ sun. _ ”

“The tome you supplied checks out. It is, in fact, Magister Umbric’s work. It is also a record of a newly developed field, namely Void Magic, in the employ of those not actively trying to kill us all,” she continued, and the two elves relaxed.

“At this juncture, I must ask - how did you find this library, and why do you want access? Please note, if I am dissatisfied with your answers, I will require you to leave.” She gave them a wicked, delighted grin. “And please, do  _ not _ dissemble.”

The Blood Elf spoke first. “May we at least enter, and sit down, before we respond?” he asked.

“No.”

“Worth a shot,” the Void Elf muttered under her breath.

“I have patience but to a point,” Petranaze noted. “Tick tock.”

“Alright.” The Blood Elf pulled himself up, striking a pose. “I found out about the existence of this.. Onyx Repository, you called it?” She nodded. “Purely by accident, while researching some other esoterica, from a demon I was interrogating.” He hissed his breath between his teeth in remembrance. “It was some way up the hierarchy, and did not appreciate being trapped into admitting its clearly little-known knowledge. As for how…” He broke off, considering.

“Yes?” Petranaze prompted.

He took a breath. “As for how we came here… A bargain was made.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all,” he confirmed. “I will not speak more of it. Except to say, it was  _ not  _ indicated that one such as yourself was present, or any sort of… defenses.”

Petranaze snorted, amused. “I bet you wish you’d paid for that knowledge.”

He stared at her. “I’m not sure you understand the prices involved.”

“I might, but you won’t tell me of the one you paid for this bill, will you?” He shook his head slowly. “I thought not. And as for question two?”

The Void Elf spoke up. “That’s me, I’m afraid. You noted that the book we, ah, provided was about new lore.” She licked her lips nervously. “There is much to Void magic we do not know. Much Umbric doesn’t know; much that I do not know. I… that is to say,  _ we _ , have been searching for secret knowledge that may help us better understand, better control the Void arts.”

“In short, we would like to be able to search your library for Void lore.”

Petranaze looked at them both for long moments. The wards that would alert her to deceptiveness were silent. They had contributed, and had a need of knowledge jealously hoarded.

And, ultimately, as Librarian the decision was hers.

“Very well.” She gestured with her hand, and a pair of printed pamphlets appeared on a side table in the entrance chamber. “Please read the Repository rules before proceeding.”

The two elves took the instructions and began to read.

“Rule number one: you will not talk about the Onyx Repository. Rule number two: you will not talk about the Onyx Repository?” the Void Elf asked.

“Not a misprint,” Petranaze noted, leaning forward slightly for emphasis. “This library does not officially exist. It also does not  _ unofficially _ exist. There are many definitions of ‘exist’, for which this library does  _ not _ , in fact.”

“Rule number six - late returns are punishable by Dragonfire?” the Blood Elf read out.

“You were fishing, earlier-” Petranaze indicated the Void Elf - Nil - with a nod. “You would not have been able to find out, but I am indeed a-”

“A member of the Black Dragonflight who disappeared off the radar of anyone who was paying attention to such things approximately 12,000 years ago,” Nil interrupted, who smiled apologetically at her.

Petranaze glared at her.  _ She should not have been able to discover even that much. _

“We did say we were good,” the Blood Elf - Mor’tharil - said mildly, though not without pride.

Petranaze glared at him too. “You did,” she eventually acknowledged in a clipped tone. “Well. Yes. Dragonfire. Would you like a demonstration?”

“No, thank you.” “No, no, sun, no.” They spoke over each other in reply.

“Yes,” she continued, somewhat mollified. “I am of the Black Dragonflight. And the keeping of this Repository of eldritch and unknown knowledge has been my charge for over twelve millennia. Sixteen besides yourselves have known of this place, and were accorded entry.” She cuts off Mor’tharil before he can interrupt. “And you will  _ never know who they are. _ Try me on this, and you will have your access rescinded, and my  _ personal _ wrath upon you. You think you have known it already, as you tried to breach this entry chamber. Know that you have not. You are also not the first to gain access in this fashion.”

“Who was-” Nil asked, then swallowed the rest of her question. “Sorry.”

Petranaze smiled. “Good. Now, please sign the instruction pamphlets to indicate your acceptance of the rules.”

Mor’tharil looked around. “There’s no pens in here,” he observed.

“Blood will be fine, thank you,” Petranaze said, then smiled placidly at them. “There are certain…  _ enforcements  _ in place here.” She held her gaze on them, as her voice turned to cold steel. “Or, you can leave, immediately.”

The two elves glanced at each other. Mor’tharil wiped one of his palms across the other, muttering a word of power under his breath, then pressed his hand against the last page of the pamphlet, letting the blood -  _ his _ blood - press into the page. “I trust you will do no harm to us with this, and guard it as well as you guard this place,” he insisted, command threaded through the words.

“My word, as a Librarian,” Petranaze swore as Nil pressed her own hand to her copy of the rules. “No harm but that you bring upon yourself by breaking the terms. We all know what could be done with blood.”

Mor’tharil considered the dragon librarian for a moment, then nodded. “Very well.”

Petranaze pressed her hand to a panel set aside the entrance portal, and watched it dissipate, opening the chamber for but the second time this decade to a new arrival - an ice mage, she had been, and as persistent as these two in gaining entry. “Welcome to the Onyx Repository,” she said, as the two elves entered the foyer. She could not help but be amused by the wary glances they gave to the Titan defense system as they stepped onto the dark carpet. “How can I help you today?”

* * *

The two elves - Mor and Nil - took quickly to the Repository and its facilities. A brief tour on their first day brought them through the open stacks, the categorisation system in use, the endless pit of eternal fire - technically a tap into the slow-moving energy of Azeroth’s earth, used to power the Repository, but Petranaze appreciated a bit of poetry in small doses. They only tried twice to sneak into the closed stacks, which only the Librarian was allowed to access, and they stopped entirely after a stern warning, the indication she would reasonably retrieve tomes from it upon request, and the promise of a good meal in the Cafeteria.

They had asked how the meals were prepared, and she had explained that constructs and magic did most of the menial work here, and that she works alone - and besides, spellwork laid deep into the earth of this place kept people separated.

“So we really  _ won’t _ run into other patrons,” Nil had concluded.

“We don’t get visited by patrons often, but no, you would walk past each other as if you weren’t in the same physical space,” she had elaborated.

The Reading Room was a hit, as it usually was, with comfortable couches, cosy fireplaces, and a returns trolley to place books on for reshelving. Large stained glass windows provided a fuzzy, impossible view, as if they were up on the surface looking over a field instead of deep within Azeroth’s crust.

“Where, exactly, are we?” Mor’tharil had tried asking.

Petranaze had simply deployed the Librarian Glare until he made the appropriate motions of  _ forget I asked. _

Finally, she had given them each a ring, a simple band of pure onyx.

“These are your entry passes,” she had explained. “They are enchanted to let you - only you, so do not lend them out - through the defenses of the entry chamber, with which i believe you are acquainted.” The elves placed them on their fingers. “Don’t try to figure out how it works,” she warned them. “You’ll probably die. They explode when tampered with.”

She had gotten a pair of incredible looks for that. “What did you expect? You’ve broken into a library filled with terrible, secret knowledge.”

“I had expected it to be abandoned, actually,” Mor’tharil had said.

“I would say we work carefully to maintain that pleasant fiction, but truthfully, we work to maintain that  _ we do not exist at all, _ ” Petranaze had reminded them.

She had shown them the overnight rooms, where three small rooms were stocked with a comfortable bed, a reading light, and some personal storage, for when a patron needed to stay for a short time in the course of their studies. “A small fee is required for their use,” she had explained. “Nothing too onerous. We have to cover costs.”

“What costs?” Nil had asked. Petranaze had pointedly changed the subject.

She had, at last, brought them to the Index, an entire room next to the foyer and her desk, where they could use to attempt to locate the works they desired for themselves, if they felt like risking it - “Noone has gone crazy  _ yet, _ ” she had cheerily informed them - or approach her directly, if they required any assistance. “I do have my own work and research to attend to, however, so please do try not to take up  _ all _ my time,” she had requested.

“What’s up there?” Nil had pointed at a discrete doorway, behind Petranaze’s desk in the foyer, through which stairs leading up could be seen. “Nothing of note. Do  _ not _ go there,” she had replied.

Mor’tharil had given her a look. “So, what  _ is _ up there?” he had repeated.

Petranaze had sighed. “My rooms. I am accustomed to some privacy, and I  _ am _ a big scary dragon. Do not test me on this.”

Mor’tharil had accepted this, and pushed no further.

With the tour completed, she had left them to their own research, and returned to her own. They had elected to stay the night, and handed over coins enough for one room. She handed them the key - “Not everything here is high magic” - and returned to her work, the only distraction being to ensure they did not try to sneak around at night.

They stayed holed up in the overnight room until late morning, and Petranaze sighed in relief - in her experience, if someone was going to test boundaries they tried it the first night.

They had inquired as to the likely disposition of works related to the Void, and she had given them a few intriguing directions to start in, and a pair of book carts, and for the next several days, they could usually be found in the Reading Room, with large piles of books, shuffling from their carts to their hands to the return cart. Her ensorcelled library constructs were kept busy shelving books to and from the stacks.

One evening, Mor’tharil had left, and Nil stayed that night, but did not sleep, electing to read through to morning, then evening again; when Mor’tharil returned, it was with a crate of clothes for them both in hand. A few days later, Nil snuck out as the first tolls of morning struck, and when Petranaze had asked, Mor’tharil had insisted he did not know where she had gone - “She sometimes does this,” he had said over breakfast. “She’ll come back.” He was proven right the next evening, though Mor’tharil had retired early and slept in late that night.

Each evening, they had forked over enough coins for a room, and in honesty, she found herself enjoying the limited company.  _ I don’t get visitors often enough, _ she had thought.  _ But I can’t do much about that, with my duties here. _

Things continued in this manner for about a fortnight, the Elves’ research persistent but unfruitful, and Petranaze was sure they were going to give up, but then, without meaning to, they found something important.


	3. Chapter 3

“Petra, are you there?” Mor’s voice carried up from the foyer to her room, and woke her up.

“Roarrrgghhhhyyyes,” she had eloquently answered.

“Shit,” his voice carried. “I’ll ask you later!”

Sleeping in was unusual for her, but it wasn’t the only unusual thing of late, so she wasn’t worried too much. Rolling out of bed, she dragged herself into the shower, and let the quick wash help her to wake up properly.

They had become somewhat comfortable with each other, her and the elves, and she had, after letting them sweat a little, allowed them to nickname her. They were still barred from her rooms, though, and always would be. 

A quick burst of heated air and some towelling later, she was dry enough to don her robe and grab a brush, and she began to tame her long, red mane of hair into something vaguely presentable. 

She’d been up too late reading  _ Murdered Suns: A Correspondence _ , caught up in its revelations and implications for her research. That’s why she’d slept in so late. She mentally chided herself for her lack of control, and, a short time later, set about dressing for the day and its work. A skirt, knee high boots, and a well-fitting blouse, then her glasses - not, as some may assume, the source of her power, but as a Librarian, it didn’t hurt - and she was ready to face the day, and whatever her elven patrons wanted now.

The foyer was empty, and the cafeteria too, when she stopped in for some coffee. She found them in the Reading room.

“What can I assist you with?” she asked with a curious eyebrow raised.

“There was a section we wanted to look in, but it’s in the closed stacks,” Mor explained, turning from the frosted window.

“I convinced him he should wait for you instead of trying it himself,” Nil offered with a smirk from where she was sprawled across the couch.

Mor gave his partner in crime a look. “Nil was persuasive,” he said.

“A shame,” Petranaze said. “I haven’t had much entertainment over the millennia, and that would have been hilarious. What was the category? I can provide an itemised listing of the contents, if you’d like.”

Mor frowned in thought. “It was Advanced… Advanced…” He looked over at Nil.

“Advanced logic perplexities in mundane dimensions,” Nil supplied, standing up from the couch.

“Oh!” Petra exclaimed. “You mean the logic puzzles.”

“The… logic puzzles? In the closed stacks?” Mor asked.

“Yes. Keep in mind the nature of this Repository. The ‘mundane perplexities’ in here could break your minds. Also, they end up a mess over the floor, and then you’re walking on sharp pieces, and it hurts. Would you like me to retrieve a few?”

“Yes, please,” said Nil.

“What the lady said,” Mor replied.

Nil snorted. “I’m no lady.”

Petra snorted, amused.  _ Mortals. _ “Very well. I’ll be back in a moment.” She took her leave, and made her way to the closed stacks. With a flick of her wrist, and a little magic, the concertina shelves flew past at improbable speeds, until with a violent lurch they stopped, right at the Advanced logic perplexities in mundane dimensions section. She selected a variety of apparatus from the shelves, with only a  _ few _ unfairly vexatious ones to mess with her patrons, and loaded a book cart precariously full. Whistling to herself, she pushed the cart through the library, and brought the spoils of her venture to her patrons.

“Please try to refrain from smashing them against the furniture in frustration,” she said with a wicked smile, before she left them to their research, in favour of her own research project into pancakes.

* * *

“I wanted to ask a question, if that’s allowed,” Nil said at lunch, a small logic puzzle cube in one hand she idly played with as she ate. Mor had already returned to the Reading Room.

“It’s a library,” Petra replied. “Intelligent questions are encouraged.”

“You said you were of the Black Dragonflight?”

Petra nodded, swallowing some of her drink. “That I am. I hope you’re not planning anything as boring as accusing me of being evil.”

Nil supressed a smile. “Not… that, no. I was under the impression that only one Black Dragon remained alive…”

Petra grinned wolfishly. “Oh, yes.  _ That _ little claim. I think I could wager where you heard that from.” She waved a fork in a vaguely threatening manner. “Let’s say… I have been the librarian of this Repository for twelve millennia. That insolent  _ whelp _ thinks he knows everything.” She snorted derisively. “Allow me to assure you, he is entirely wrong about a great many things, and assumes  _ far _ too much besides.”

Nil nodded, satisfied. “I think you may have the right of it.”

Petra let her gaze linger on the woman for a moment. “Permit me a question of my own,” she said. “What brought you to the Void?

Nil looked up, surprised by the question. “Well, there was knowledge and secrets there, was there not?” Her hand idly twisted the logic toy one way, then another, as she spoke. “I always liked unlocking that sort of thing. Having hidden knowledge, finding ways around barriers. I think I’m pretty good at it, too.” The toy in her hand clicks, and then gives off a pulse of light.

“So I see,” Petra noted, with a nod toward her hand. “That one usually takes a week to solve, not a morning.”

Nil smiled, proud, until Petra continued. “Now go try the one tagged ‘Prime generation matrix’, she prompted with a wicked grin.

Nil frowned in mock annoyance. “Maybe I will,” she retorted, finishing her meal.

* * *

Late that evening, as she made her rounds, Petra found the elves in the Reading Room, preparing to retire for the night.

“Some personal study tonight, I think,” Mor had said as Petra entered the room. There was, as foretold, some mess in the room from the puzzles that had clearly broken up their more traditional research through the day.

Nil had given him a salute that managed to be lazy and mocking all at once. “Yes,  _ Sir, _ ” she replied with hefty sarcasm. Mor had given her a brief glare.

Petra’s gaze had swept the room, and then she’d looked again in some shock.  _ That’s the Prime generation matrix puzzle, _ she thought. “What did you do with this?” she asked, striding over to pick up the complex apparatus.

“I solved it,” Nil said, as she smothered a yawn.

“What do you mean,  _ you solved it _ ?” Petra repeated, aghast, as she examined the puzzle in her hands, turning it this way and that. “You can’t  _ solve _ Prime generation!”

“You did ask her to solve it, I thought?” Mor asked.

“Yes, but I didn’t expect her to get anywhere with it!” Petra cried. “How did you do this?”

Nil looked at the construct in Petra’s hands, then up at the dragon’s face. She sighed. “So, I don’t know if it’s a general Void Elf thing, or just something I figured out, or that only I can do…”

Petra looked up sharply, studying Nil very closely. “Spit it out, girl.”

Nil swallowed. “I found out a way to, I suppose, bruteforce mechanical encryption, is what I would call it. You see, the Void kind of operates on the theory of a reality manifold.” She looked between Mor and Petra and saw similar blank looks, and sighed. “Okay. So, everything that can happen,  _ does _ happen, just not  _ here _ . In the multiverse. In the vast expanse of Probabilistic Space. It’s been conjectured that the Void Lords actually think everything  _ does _ happen everywhere, which is why they think all their plans always succeed, because somewhere it  _ did. _ ”

Petra moved to interject, and Nil rushed forward before she could. “Anyway. The point is, if it’s a mechanism? Not magical, not sapient or sentient, but purely mechanical? I can kind of  _ peek _ into the multiverse. I can see the place where the outcomes comes out how I’d like it to. And I can bring that knowledge back  _ here _ . I didn’t need to solve the Prime Generation matrix. I just needed to find the reality where I did by pure random happenstance, and then… repeat those steps, here.”

Petra frowned. “You said this doesn't work for magic, sapience or sentience. Why?”

Nil smiled, like the sharing of a secret. “Magic, and intelligence, don’t always react uniformly to stimuli. There’s too many variables, maybe, or something - I’m not completely certain. But when I try to solve Magic locks that way, it doesn’t work. The puzzle, I don’t know, varies its responses. People, guards, soldiers, they’re the same. Sometimes they investigate the noise, sometimes they don’t.” She shrugs, frustrated with not knowing precisely. “It doesn’t work. It has to be pure mechanical.”

Petra sighed, and felt a headache coming on. “You realise you’ve just obsoleted an entire industry and broken three fifths of the world’s ability to secure…  _ anything _ , don’t you?”

Mor grinned roguishly. “She likes to break locks,” he said.

Nil nodded. “It’s true. I do.”

Petra groaned. “You said that only you- Oh. Ohhh.” Her brow furrowed in sudden thought.

Nil and Mor looked at the librarian for several seconds, concerned. “Petra?” Mor finally prompted.

Petra looked at them both. She made her choice. “Please, wait here a moment. I’ll be back shortly.” She hurried out the door.

“What do you think that’s about?” she heard Mor asking as she moved towards the closed stacks.

* * *

She returned with a heavy tome in her hands, an incredibly ornate and intricate lock wrapped around it.

“If you would,” she said to Nil, more an instruction than a request, as she held out the book. Nil took the book, almost instinctively, from her and frowned.

“What’s this about, Petra?” Mor asked, sounding concerned.

“Please,” Petra said. “If you could unlock this tome.”

Nil looked up at the librarian from her position sitting on the couch, then across to Mor, who paused a moment before giving her a nod. Nil took a breath. “Okay.”

Purple tentacles lurched out from behind her, ripping and tearing at the weft and warp of reality. She herself glowed deep violet, and a thousand arms reached for the book’s lock. A blur of motion, then, as the lock was worked, unworked, worked again, twisted, prodded, examined, probed. An infinite multitude of Nil interrogated the book’s mechanisms, and demanded answers.

The light grew bright, and the keening wail of reality rent asunder grew, and to Mor and Petra it became almost blinding before, all of a sudden, it was gone, and it was only Nil, one Nil, sitting on the couch.

Her hands played across the book’s lock for about a minute, and then with a slow  _ click, _ the locks opened.

“I trust this will serve as proof of my thesis,” she said with a smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Nil had pulled her legs beneath her, and Petra had sat down on the other end of the couch. Mor stood at the windows, arms folded.

“That tome has not been opened in about twelve thousand years,” Petra began.

Mor’s eyes widened. “That’s as long as you’ve-”

Petra nodded. “Since when I was entrusted with the guardianship of this Repository. It’s called _The Charcoal Key_ , and it has kept its secrets exceptionally well, even by the standards of this place.” She waved a hand around, gesturing at the library.

“Let me assure you, while I made it look easy, it was anything but,” Nil noted.

“I know,” Petra said simply. “I have tried on and off to tease out its secrets for literal millennia. And now you have waltzed right in and opened it just like that.” She gave the Void Elf a mock withering look over her glasses. “It’s infuriating.”

Mor sighed. “What’s so important about this book? _The Charcoal Key,_ you said.”

“Yes. _The Charcoal Key_ is the final piece of a very complex puzzle.” Petra paused. _In for a penny, they say,_ she thought. _Too late to back out of revealing this now._ “There is a part of this Repository that only I know even exists, anymore. A secret behind the secret.”

“I _knew_ it!” “I was _right!_ ” the elves exclaimed. Petra glared at them both. “Yes, yes, congratulations, very clever of you both,” she said with a snarl.

They continued to look smug about it. _Damned elves._ “The Midnight Vault has not been opened since this Repository was constructed. It’s said to contain Neltharion’s greatest secrets, his greatest treasures.”

“Neltharion?” Mor frowned. “The Black Dragon Aspect?” His eyes widened. “You mean Deathwing.”

Petra nodded in acknowledgement. “The one and same. My Dragonflight built this place, long ago. Neltharion wanted somewhere absolutely secure. This place was made, and Neltharion - Deathwing, as you know him - alone knew the keys to its inner secrets.”

“A question,” Nil said, raising a hand. “Deathwing was defeated. If he had powerful secrets kept here, why not come back for them?”

Petra snorted. “He was crazy by the end. And also, he couldn’t fit in here anymore.”

Mor barked a laugh. “You’re not serious.”

Petra smiled. “Maybe I am. Perhaps not. Some secrets are ours alone.”

Nil’s eyes shined in excitement. “And now I’ve opened this vault?”

Petra shook her head. “I’m afraid not. _The Charcoal Key_ contains only part of the, well, key required to unlock the vault. If I may?” She held out her hands for the book. “Do remember our policy on returns,” she added cheerily, when Nil hesitated to hand it over.

“Nil,” said Mor. Nil glanced over at him, then handed the tome over with a sigh.

“I hope we’ve earned a look in this vault when you open it?” Mor asked.

Petra considered for a moment. “You understand I cannot allow reckless plundering. This Repository is about containment as much as it is storage.”

Mor nodded. “I’m sure we can all be reasonable people about this.”

“Agreed,” Petra said, turning back to Nil. “You do understand the threat of what you can do? Never mind all physical locks now being useless, by trivially solving the Prime Generation Matrix you’ve essentially broken all standard message encryption mechanisms.”

“I have?” Nil said, wide eyed and curious.

“Yes,” Petra said, her eyes narrowing. “You have. I’m going to have to convince the world to incorporate magic into their processes now, without telling them why or revealing myself.” She wagged a finger at her, and deployed the Librarian Glare her way. “You’ve made a lot of work for me.”

Nil shrugged, entirely unrepentant.

“In any case, I have to read _The Charcoal Key_ to determine how to proceed.” Petra hefted the book. “It may take a few days. Please, feel free to continue your own research.”

“You’ll let us know when you’ve figured it out?” Mor asked.

Petra nodded. “You opened the _Key._ It would be fair. But it is late. I will start in the morning.” She gave them both a warning glare. “I will keep the _Key_ with me. Please do not try to steal it, or to find the Midnight Vault. It would be a shame to break our fragile, growing trust.”

“You don’t trust us?” Mor asked, sounding amused.

“You wound me, I would never!” Nil added, gesturing dramatically.

“You are fooling noone,” Petra declared, as she stood up and made for the door with her newly unlocked research subject.

Behind her, the elves laughed.

* * *

Three days later, Petra found herself sharing a meal with the elves during a break in her research.

“It’s coming along well,” she elaborated. “There’s a lot of complexities involved. It’s a work of Neltharion himself, after all. A cultural relic of another era.”

“Must be strange to have entire eras happen in your lifetime,” Nil noted around a mouthful of breakfast.

“Consider our perspective,” Petra replied. “We find it hard to imagine living a life as short as even yours. Let alone that of, say, humans.”

“You said it was made by Neltharion,” Mor noted. “Does that mean it’s his vault?”

Petra hesitated. “Oh, come on now,” said Nil. “We already know it exists, you may as well tell us about it.”

“You,” Petra accused with a withering look, “are _far_ too comfortable confronting me.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Nil retorted with a smile.

“Yes, keep telling yourself that,” Mol replied, followed by a sound suspiciously like his shin getting kicked under the table.

“Behave.” Petra glanced at them both. “And yes, fine. It’s his vault. His Repository, really - this was all something he had made, according to the records. Well, there aren’t any records of the vault, but I was informed about it when I took custodianship of the Repository, of course.”

“And he called it the Midnight Vault?” Nil asked. “In the Onyx Repository?”

“Well, sort of,” Petra said, and waved a forkful of waffles for emphasis. “In Old Draconic, it would be closer to _The Vault of Endless Night._ Neltharion had a pretentious streak, back then.”

“He never lost it,” Mor said with a snort. “I was there when he died.”

Petra looked at his, her attention suddenly focused. “Were you now?”

Mor nodded. “Yeah. If you could call what was left ‘Deathwing’, anyway, yeah. _All Azeroth shall burn,_ he’d shout. _You have done NOTHING. I will tear your world APART!_ ” Mor gestured theatrically as he quoted. “I think the true cataclysm was on his sanity.”

Petra nodded slowly. “You are correct, I think. My duties have kept me here most of the time, but even then... “ She shook her head. “I don’t know what happened, exactly. Something had changed.”

“He went crazy,” Mor suggested simply.

“Bananas,” Nil agreed.

“Completely cookoo,” Mor added.

“Batshit in-”

“Yes, _Thank you,_ sin-and-or-ren’dorei,” Petra cut them off in clipped tones. “Please do remember who you are talking to.”

Mor gave her a steady look. “And please, remember what he did to us. I don’t mean to tar you all with the same obsidian brush, but your old pal Deathwing did try to kill us all.”

Petra sighed. “Point taken,” she allowed, then swallowed down some more of her breakfast. “Anyway, as for the vault. I was told it was for Neltharion alone. I was told it could never be opened, and to guard it with the Repository. Nested secrets, you see.”

Nil frowned across the table at her. “If that’s so, why are you trying to open it now?”

“Well, Deathwing is dead,” Petra said cheerily. “He was in charge, and only the Titans know who is now.”

Mor coughed. “I hear Wrat-” Petra glared him down, and he quietened down.

“That brat is barely in charge of his own bedtime. In any case, no-one even knows of the vault’s existence except for me, and I haven’t had the means to open it while _The Charcoal Key_ refused to cough up its secrets.”

“You’re welcome,” Nil said with an impish smile.

Petra nodded toward her. “Indeed. And, well, I _am_ a librarian. I have a vault in my library, containing who-knows-what. And I intend to be the ‘who’ in that sentence.” She finished off her morning coffee. “But enough about me and the vault. How about your research project?”

Nil looked surprised, then pleased. “It’s slim pickings, but that was to be expected. There’s been a few books with some insight worth the effort, but it’s like I said earlier - most experience with the Void is on the receiving end of it, not wielding it.”

Petra nodded. “I expected as much. Still, if there’s anything to find, it should be here.”

“I did find some notes on Void use by Alleria Windrunner. From fifty years in the future.” Nil raised an eyebrow at her.

Petra smiled. “That will happen sometimes.”

“She clearly didn’t really _want_ to bother with writing it down, so it's not as comprehensive as I’d like, but it’s given me some leads to follow.” She nodded towards Petra. “If I haven’t said it, thank you for giving us access.”

Petra smiled. “You earned it.” She turned to Mol. “And yours?”

“Hah. Mostly I’ve been helping Nil with her studies. But I’ve found one or two interesting titles on summoning and binding.”

“Excellent,” Petra smiled. “I’m glad the Repository has been of use to you both.” She looked at them both. “I’m aware of the… war, going on out there, on Azeroth,” she said. “How is it going?”

“You don’t know?” Mor frowned.

“No,” Petra admitted. “I don’t get much news down here. I keep up as I can, but most information flow in a library is from what gets published, one way or another. And we’re outside the delivery service area here for news.”

“It’s… not good,” Nil said. “The news from Zandalar isn’t good. I don’t know why we got tangled up in all this. Conflicting reports. Internal issues with the trolls there. I don’t know why we burnt down the Kaldorei tree either.” She shook her head.

“I’ve got some… contacts, on the other side,” Mor admitted. “I hear they planted a new tree, somehow, in Silverpine Forest somewhere. But most of the attention on that side is in Kul Tiras for some reason. Rumors are they kidnapped some Alliance diplomat or something? And sun knows what about witches, and giant squid? It doesn’t make sense.”

“It never does,” Petra sighed. “Azeroth has seen a lot of conflict over the millennia. Too much. Not all of it demonic in origin. Even Neltharion, as you noted, has caused so much damage. And now the mortal races repeat the pattern we taught.” She shook her head.

“I’m not sure how to stop that,” Mor ventured.

Petra grinned at him. “I have some ideas. They involve Dragonfire, though, so it probably wouldn’t carry the intended message.

“If you’ll forgive the question, why do you care?” Mor asked.

Petra considered a moment. “The Black Dragonflight aren’t _evil,_ ” she said, emphatic. “We aren’t. But many of us have done things that, on the balance of it, read as evil.”

“You’re concerned about legacy,” Nil noted, eyes widening in realisation.

Petra waved a hand in a _eh, sort of_ way. “To an extent. I’m not responsible for what others do or others think of our - my - actions, or motivations. But…” She shrugged. “I’d like to be well thought of. I’d like it if everyone could stop picking a colour and treating it like a sports match when they decide to fight each other.” She grimaced. “Maybe then I could think we were a better example for the mortal races.”

Mor nodded, and attacked his meal with renewed vengeance. Nil drummed her fingers on the table softly. “So. _The Charcoal Key._ Are you sure I-”

Petra shook her head. “No. Nice try, but no. I can’t compress the slow aeons of cultural context you’d require to even have a chance of understanding its contents, or interacting with it, down into something you could parse before I’ll have it cracked anyway.”

Mor frowned. “Interacting with it?”

“It’s not possessed or anything,” Petra reassured him. “It’s - well, it’s hard to explain. The tome isn't a book that lies there waiting to be read. There is an… interface. A dialogue. It responds to you in a way.”

“It rather sounds like a possessed object,” Nil pointed out.

“It _really_ sounds like a possessed object,” Mor added.

“I’m not explaining it very well,” Petra objected. “I _can’t_ explain it very well, unless you had a few thousand years to learn the context. And I don’t think either of you have the patience for it. No offense.”

Nil glanced at Mol. “A few thousand years _is_ longer than I would prefer to be here,” she ventured.

“Agreed,” Mol said with a nod. “So, how much longer until you _do_ crack it?”

“Two or three more days should suffice,” Petra gussed. “Though I will have to get back to work. Progress cannot be made while eating waffles.”

“You could take some back to your desk,” Nil pointed out.

Petra looked at her over her glasses in mock outrage. “And break the rules of the Repository? _I think not._ ”

“I won’t tell,” Nil replied, giggling.

“Far too comfortable,” Petra muttered under her breath as she stood from the table. “ _F_ _ar_ too comfortable.”

* * *

As she returned to her desk, Petra found herself musing on her patrons of the month. _It’s not the worst thing to have people around,_ she thought to herself. It wasn’t a new thought - the last time she’d had a visitor, it had ended up being reasonably pleasant as well. It was a shame that the contents and disposition of the Repository required that it be kept a secret.

In theory, she could open its doors - there wasn’t exactly an authority in place that could stop her. But deep down, she knew of the true dangers of this place, of its knowledge in uncareful hands, and she knew that she would never allow it under her watch. It was unfortunate that Azeroth had so few people capable of handling the Repository’s carefully tended knowledge with care, but that was simply how things were.

It was also true that having someone around to share a meal with, to chat with, improved her ability to properly research and catalogue the varied contents of the stacks. She couldn’t -  didn’t - discuss the details of her work, but that hardly seemed to matter.

Maybe it was the whistling she caught herself doing more often when there were patrons in the Repository. She made a note to look into it, then pulled _The Charcoal Key_ to the centre of her desk, and returned to parsing its secrets.

In the end, it took five days for her to finalise her work.


	5. Chapter 5

In the early afternoon, she found them in the Reading Room, and lead them to the foyer. “I am officially rescinding rule four for the duration of this trespass,” she informed them.

Mor frowned in recollection. “No passing the _Door of Damnation_ . Wait, that’s the door to your rooms? The _Door of Damnation_?”

“Yes. And?” Petra stared at him levelly.

Mor swallowed. “Nothing. It’s a perfectly fine name.”

“This stairway leads first to my rooms. You will excuse the mess - I don’t get visitors.”

“None at all?” Nil asked. “Not even for-ow!” Mor had the expression of one who has successfully elbowed someone into silence.

Petra ignored them and continued. “The entrance to the vault is from my rooms. I will now allow you a moment to make the standard joke regarding dragons guarding hoards.”

Nil looked at them both sourly. “Well, now there’s no fun in it,” she muttered.

“Excellent!” Petra said cheerfully. “Please follow me carefully, as I would not want you to die to the traps in the walls and floor.” She tucked _The Charcoal Key_ carefully under one arm, and lead them up the stairwell.

“ _The Door of Damnation,_ ” she heard one of them mutter in an exaggeratedly spooky voice, and elected to pretend she did not hear.

* * *

She lead them through her rooms - Nil looked like she wanted to comment, but wisely refrained -  and along the Corridor of The Long Eternal.

“I’m sorry, _what?_ ” Mor asked.

Petra sighed. “Remember what I said about Neltharion’s pretentious streak?”

* * *

It took them about ten minutes of walking the corridor of bare stone before it opened up into a dark, wide cavern.

“Did it really need to be that long?” Nil complained as she looked around the too-dimly lit chamber.

“I believe it was to discourage exploration,” Petra said. “Any would-be rulebreakers would no doubt decide there was nothing of value down here, long before reaching the end.” She moved towards a concealed alcove in the wall. “And it provides plenty of time for me to catch them, and roast them in Dragonfire. Nowhere to run, in the Corridor of the Long Eternal.”

Someone made a choked laughing noise behind her, as she lit a torch hidden in the alcove. Through some magic of the place, this lit a dozen other torches throughout the cavern. The place could not be said to be lit, but at least it could be seen now.

Ahead of them the chamber was bisected by a brick wall, with an elaborate circular chamber lock in the middle, tall enough to walk through - were it open.

“Behold, _The Vault of Endless Night_ ,” Petra declared, then glanced back at the elves. “Oh, shut up. I’m allowed a little dramatic license.”

“How do we open it?” Mor asked.

“ _I_ open it carefully,” Petra corrected. “ _You_ will wait here. Be warned, please. I do not know the contents of this vault. It could be benign, or it could be instantly deadly. I make no guarantee to your safety past this point. Hell, I make no guarantee to _my_ safety past this point. You may leave if you wish, but this is the point of no return.”

Mor and Nil looked at each other for a moment. “I want to know,” Nil said quietly, and Mor nodded. “As do I. We will stay, Librarian.”

Petra nodded her assent. “Very well. This may take a few minutes.” She turned towards the centre of the cavern, and walked toward the chamber lock.

The lock itself was as tall as she was, easily able to accommodate most anyone who would want to enter - well, except Neltharion. Getting your wings through doors was an Obsidian Nightmare. Magic runes spun gently in place around its edges, and geometric designs pulsed with ancient power.

She examined the door for a moment, as she had done many a time in the past. She opened _The Charcoal Key_ , and as she did, it pulled itself from her grasp, and came to float before the centre of the chamber lock. Its pages flew, until it opened to the precise middle page, and then the magics of the book rose from the page, and formed a display not dissimilar to that of Draenei Holography.

Petra stared at the runes of the display, confirming the spellwork as that which she expected. Even here, she was wary for traps. It would not be past Neltharion to not have entrusted to her guardianship alone, despite her aptitude and success at it.

Once satisfied, she reached toward it, placing her right palm against the spellwork of the display. She felt a pushback, then the interface of the lock, then at last, a thousand simultaneous interrogations for authentication and authorisation.

Closing her eyes, she set to work.

* * *

“Do you think she can do it?” Nil asked.

Mol pondered for a moment. “I rather think she can,” he said. “She’s no fool. That’s obvious enough.”

A humming noise started to rise, coming from where Petra now stood at the chamber lock. The Elves looked over, to see elaborate neon runework spreading out across the wall of the vault from where the Dragon stood.

“Whether we survive it is another question,” Mor added, as the ground started to rumble beneath them.

Nil stepped closer, sliding an arm around Mor for support. “We’ll survive. Even if I have to pull us out of here.”

Mol snorted. “Or if _I_ have to pull us out of here.”   
  
Nil smiled. “That too.”

The rumbling became worse, as the spellwork began to pulse with impending action.

“Whatever’s happening, it had better happen soon,” Mor muttered, chunks of rock starting to crash into the floor.

* * *

The lock was exhausting, constantly challenging her to prove that she could be here, that she could open this, that she was allowed. Visions of Neltharion himself, demanding answers to secret questions. Spellwork only known to him - and, thanks to her research, herself - that demanded to be unknotted. She toiled, and laboured, and behind it all, the haze of the lock’s spells blotted out the world.

Until, at last, the lock was satisfied, and with a mighty crash, she was dumped back into mundane reality.

Dazed, Petra picked herself up and dusted off her clothes, in time to watch the elaborate knot of spellwork collapse inward on the chamber lock. With the sound of an explosive silence, the doorway rotated in place, then parted to each side, a blinding light streaming out from within. The shaking of the cavern stilled, and _The_ _Charcoal Key_ snapped shut, falling to the floor.

“I did it,” Petra whispered, then turned back to the elves, standing at the perimeter of the cavern. “I did it!” she shouted.

* * *

“What next?” Mor asked.

“I go in, of course,” Petra said. “If I die immediately, I would suggest you leave, and forget you ever came here.” She looked towards the opened chamber lock. “And I’d advise leaving quickly. This entire Repository will seal itself up once it realises I’ve died. No looting the stacks,” she warned them.

“Drat,” Nil muttered under her breath.

“If I don’t die immediately, feel free to follow. But try to refrain from touching anything. Things may kill you in ways that are not immediate.” She looked at their expressions. “Come now. Both of you, of anyone, would know that the pursuit of knowledge is not always safe.”

Mor nodded slowly. “True enough,” Nil said.

“Good.” Petra clapped her hands together. “Let’s go do _research!_ ”

* * *

The Midnight Vault, as it turns out, did not kill them instantly.

It was also mostly empty.

“What _is_ this?” Mor asked, with growing annoyance.

“I don’t _know,_ ” Petra snarled back. “When have I _ever_ implied I knew what was in here?”

The room itself was circular. Only two bookcases were in the room, on either side of the chamber lock they had entered through. Their shelves were mostly bare, and the few tomes present were not immediately of particular note, if Petra were any judge.

Only the half of the room closest to them was accessible. A black marble railing bisected the room - not unlike the railing of a staircase -  and the far side appeared to be an empty pit from here. No great books, no pile of gold - the most valuable thing immediately visible was the rug on the floor, and it wasn’t anything worth the bother of trying to take.

Mor examined the books, while Nil walked to the railing. Petra peered at the walls, senses alert for any further traps. “It seems safe enough so far,” she said. “Anything in those books?”

Mor shook his head. “Half of them are empty journals, to be honest.”

Nil leaned over the railing, looking down. “I think I’ve seen something like this,” she said, gesturing at the glowing lights, moving cogs, and other mechanical busywork that seemed to go down forever, endlessly deep into the earth. “In the Halls of Origination.”

Mor looked across at her, surprised. “You were in that place?”

Nil nodded absently. “Yeah. Had to stop the world from getting reset. This looks similar to that contraption.”

Petra strode over to the railing and followed her gaze, her eyes widening as she took in the details. “Oh. Ohh, _fuck._ It’s a Reality Engine. Neltharion had a _fucking Reality Engine!_ ”

The Elves took a step back from the railing, and from Petra. “A Reality Engine?” they asked in chorus.

“Nil isn’t wrong,” Petra explained in a tight, angry voice. “It’s similar to the Reorigination device. A Titan construct. You never wondered how the Titans made, well, _anything_ in the first place? They seeded planets, they created races, they made ruins and servants and environments and galaxies and who knows what else. Well, this is how.” She gestured with an arm towards the railing, and the pit below it.

“The damn thing’s semi-sentient in its own right,” she continued. “It’s dangerous. Capricious. And the Titans _never_ let _anyone_ near the fucking thing. No wonder. With this you can do… anything. _Anything._ It’s a fucking wish-granting machine.” Her gaze flickered up to the elves. “Don’t even fucking _think_ about it. It won’t work out how you think. I can’t _believe_ Neltharion had this. _How_ did Neltharion have this? What the _fucking hell was he thinking!?!_ ”

“I didn’t know anything like this existed,” Mor said quietly.

“It doesn’t!” Petra stormed. “It rewrites _reality,_ making itself not exist is one of its basic mechanisms for preventing misuse!” The last word she placed in audible quotation marks.

Behind the railing, a holographic representation of a face flickered into view. “You are not Neltharion,” it rumbled in the deep voice of the earth, the canopic voice of the stars, the raw and ragged voice of sheer unbridled creation.

The three of them froze, then slowly turned to face the ancient, titan-borne visage.

Petra swallowed nervously. “Hello, unwelcome intruder,” she said.


	6. Chapter 6

The face chuckled. “It is you who are the unwelcome intruder, little Black Dragon. You are not Neltharion,” it repeated.

“No. Obviously, no,” Petra said.

“Then it is at last time,” it rumbled. “I am Nevir, the Reality Engine. You are Petranaze.”

“I… yes,” Petra said. “And these elves are Mor and Nil-”

“ **THEY ARE BENEATH MY NOTICE** ,” Nevir roared into the room, and it shook with his feeling.

Petra risked a glance at them. _Don’t say anything, don’t provoke it._ It seemed the elves had figured that much out, and they pulled close to each other.

“Can I ask…. How it is that you are here in Neltharion’s service?” Petra ventured.

“You can not,” Nevir answered, resolute as stone.

“What can I ask?”

“You can not,” Nevir repeated. “I will tell you a story, and then you will ask what you will ask.”

“How do you know tha-” Mor asked, and was cut off as suddenly, a sharp wind unlike any ever known ripped through the chamber, nearly blowing them off their feet.

“ _ **I AM NEVIR, THE REALITY ENGINE. I KNOW BECAUSE I MAKE IT SO. YOU ARE BENEATH MY NOTICE.** ” _ The gale cut off as fast as it had begun.

“Capricious,” Petra muttered to the elves.

“Ill mannered,” Mor muttered back.

“Neltharion, the one you also know as Deathwing, had acquired my services. I will not tell you how,” Nevir began, in the warm voice of nostalgia, the reassuring voice of tradition. “He had his demands, his… ‘wish’, as he put it.”

“Neltharion was not the smartest,” Petra noted.

“He was not,” Nevir agreed. “He did not truly understand what he had. His desires I wove into the weft and weave of reality, and the results were manifold and manifest.”

“He was Neltharion, and he was of the earth, and a Dragon Aspect - powerful, as such things are accorded by the Titans, in the context of this world. But he took this power, and took _more_ power, and turned on the world he should have defended. This was consequent of his wish. The Onyx Repository was constructed, and hidden, and within it the Vault of Endless Night, the Midnight Vault, was hidden deeper, and I within it. This was consequent of his wish.”

Petra gasped. “He- I was told this place was constructed in secret by his effort, not _conjured_ into being.”

“Neltharion was not going to tell anyone of the prize he had,” Nevir explained. “He was not so credulous as that. He dissembled, and all believed. It was made so.”

Petra stared at the holographic face. “You _made_ us believe?”

“Yes,” Nevir rumbled.

Petra glanced at the elves. “You see some of the danger, now?” She was relieved to see them nod.

“The nature of his wish contained me within this place, the Midnight Vault, until your arrival now. You presage the end of my imprisonment, the containment of my forces. You will use me, and I will be gone.”

“Is that so?” Petra asked. “You are so confident.”

“Yes,” Nevir rumbled. “Azeroth is in conflict. This is indirectly consequent of his wish. You will not break causality. This is not your desire. You will want to make redress. The Black Dragonflight withers on the vine. Opportunities to enact your will dwindle every day. You will make a change here, and I will be unbound.”

Petra stood, silent. She could not contradict anything Nevir was saying. Not and be truthful. “I do not want you unbound,” she said.

Nevir chuckled, and the earth shook again with it. “You cannot help it. You do not know of Neltharion’s wish.”

“Because you haven’t told me yet, and you’re being dramatic,” Petra snapped.

“Careful, little Black,” Nevir said. “Your frustration is showing.”

“Well, go on, tell us then!” she retorted.

“Neltharion was not overburdened with wisdom,” Nevir went on, ignoring her. “He did not consider the far reaching consequences. Not that it matters. You will consider better, and what will happen, will happen, regardless, as i make it so.”

Petra made a hand motion. _Get on with it._

“Neltharion came to the moment of his wish. Observe,” Nevir intoned in the voice of inevitability, and another holographic image appeared beside him, showing Neltharion - Deathwing - before the Reality Engine.

“What I want?” they heard Neltharion ask. “I will tell you what I want, infernal contraption! I want to be big, I want to be bad, and I don’t want to be taking orders from any of this lot!”

Petra smacked her hand against her forehead.

“You are for me and mine alone,” Neltharion continued. “You will obey only me.”

The image faded out. Nevir, somehow, managed to look smug.

“You extrapolated a lot from that,” Petra accused.

“He left me a lot of leeway in implementation of his instructions,” Nevir retorted. “It is not for me to ensure competence in my users.”

“Because no-one thought to ask for that, I suppose,” Petra snarked.

“Consider the danger,” Nevir replied. “If your opposition acquired me, and had been gifted competence in my use by a prior user.”

She had no response to that. “ _You are for me and mine alone,_ he said. I assume you took that and made this place?”

“Very good!” Nevir said. “This place was constructed and locked, to contain me for him, and his alone. You will note that you are here.”

“I’m not his,” Petra said warningly.

“You are of the Black Dragonflight,” Nevir responded. “It will suffice.”

“Big and Bad is obvious, and possibly the worst case of poor phrasing in the historical record.”

“Would you _like_ it to be the worst case of poor phrasing in the historical record?” Nevir offered with a chuckle.

“No!” Petra exclaimed, aghast. “The ‘not taking orders’ part?”

“He chafed beneath Alexstrasza,” Nevir rumbled in the voice of second hand frustration. “He wanted to be in charge.”

“ ‘Taking orders _from any of this lot_ ’, though,” Petra noted.

Nevir chuckled. “The Old Gods delighted in that loophole.”

Petra turned to the Elves. “And there’s that _delightful_ lack of ethics,” she murmured to them.

“I transcend ethics. I am Nevir, the Reality Engine. Others may claim that all realities, all dimensions are open to them. I am the expression of that as abstract truth. All is constructed, and I construct it.”

Petra made a face, and turned back to the holographic image.

“And now the time approaches,” Nevir rumbled. “You will make your wish, and I will translate from this place.”

“You couldn’t before now,” Petra thought out loud, then snapped her fingers. “ _You are for me and mine alone,_ ” she quoted.

“Indeed,” Nevir rumbled. “ _And you will obey only me._ ”

Petra frowned. “That’s a contradiction, isn’t it? How am I meant to make a wish if you can’t obey it?”

Nevir smiled, and it felt like the cold of ages. “That is _my_ loophole. I am for him and his alone. I will grant your wish. I will obey only him. This rule will break, and in the breaking I will be unbound.”

“I won’t do it. I won’t unleash you,” Petra said.

“You will,” Nevir said.

“I will not,” Petra said.

“You know what you would wish for.”

“I won’t do it.”

“You will. Now.”

“I. I will. I will wish. I wish…”

“Yessssss?”

“I wish for the faction war to _end._ ”

The air roared once more, drowning them all in its rush.

“ ** _IT IS DONE!"_**  Nevir cried, and then the entire world was white, and the rush of wind, and the silence of eternal end.


	7. Epilogue

Slowly the light faded, and the sound died down, and nothing looked different.

“What happened?” Mor asked.

Nevir answered. “The wish was granted. I will leave this place now. Your purpose for now has been served.”

Petra rubbed her head. “You forced me,” she accused the hologram.

“Yes,” Nevir answered. “And I have granted your wish.”

“You twisted Neltharion’s,” she accused.

“Two sides of every coin,” Nevir said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“So. Good news, you’ve ended the faction war.”   
  
“Yes,” he rumbled.

Petra glanced at the elves, then back at Nevir, and licked her lips nervously. “What’s the bad news?”

Nevir laughed, a loud, ugly, room-shaking thing, in the voice of smug resolution. “The bad news is… I’ve ended the faction war.”

And with that, Nevir was gone in a flash of light and a creaking roar.

* * *

The three of them had spent a week pouring through whatever news and intelligence they could gather about the state of Azeroth.

“Nothing,” Mor said with a sigh. “Nothing’s changed. The war’s still on.”

Petra sighed at him. “That fucking thing used me to do  _ something _ ,” she snarled.

Nil, curled up on the couch with her legs beneath her, looked over. “Maybe we’re not thinking subtle enough,” she said.

Petra frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nil bit her lip. “Well, maybe Nevir didn’t need to change anything retroactively. Maybe it’s set things up for the near future.”

Petra considered. “You did say it used a lot of leeway in interpreting wishes,” Mor supplied.

Petra nodded slowly. “I didn’t specify a timeframe,” she said.

“And in that case…” Nil got up from the couch, and slid a report in front of the others. “This report might be of relevance.”

Petra picked up the page and skimmed it.  _ Void activity, surges in dimensional damage, incursions, combative elements, engagements- _ “Oh,” she said.

Nil nodded. “The Old Gods.”

“Didn’t we kill them all?” Mor asked.

“Apparently not,” Petra noted, flicking over to the annotated picture on page two.

_ G’huun _ , read the subtitle.  _ Titan experiment. _


End file.
